


Jealous

by crysothemis



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Break Up, Jealousy, M/M, Make Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-15
Updated: 2009-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crysothemis/pseuds/crysothemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day. One lousy day. Hell, it hadn't been eighteen hours, and Rodney was already flirting with someone else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous

**Author's Note:**

> For Tex, who knows why
> 
> Thanks to Wpadmirer for beta

Rodney was late for the scheduled check-in. Okay, not just Rodney, since he was with Teldy's team, but easy money said it was Rodney's fault.

 _Not_ that John thought it had anything to do with last night, because Rodney wouldn't do that. Rodney wasn't that petty, and damn it, it had been the right thing to do. It hadn't been easy to say, but hard truths never were, and it would have been wrong to let Rodney think . . . whatever Rodney had been thinking.

But they were really late, now. Nearly twenty-five minutes, and John was not pacing the control room floor, he was just trying to decide if twenty-five minutes was too soon to call, because he didn't want Rodney to think he was freaking out. He wasn't; he wasn't even _thinking_ about Rodney; it was just--

"They're late," Ronon said, and where the hell had he come from?

"McKay probably got caught up examining all the gizmos," John said. "Lost track of time." Because it had to be that. It couldn't be anything else, not after--

"Teldy would check in," Ronon said, and fuck, yes, that was right. That was exactly right; Teldy was the kind of officer who turned in her paperwork _early._ She didn't have a tardy bone in her body.

"Sergeant, dial M5R-573," John said, and Banks leaned forward to dial, swift and efficient. "Sheppard to Teldy," John tried once the wormhole was established, "do you read?"

For a long moment there was no response, and John could feel his pulse in his ears. And then, clear as day, Teldy's voice came through.

"Colonel, I need you to cut the wormhole immediately. We're almost to the gate, and we're coming in hot. We're going to need a medical team in the gateroom."

"Copy that," John said, and, "Sergeant, cut the connection." He was tapping his radio even before the wormhole flickered out, calling for a medical team, stat, while his feet pounded down the stairs to the gateroom floor.

It wouldn't be Rodney. It would be Porter or Cohen or, hell, Mehra, because they were the ones who took risks. Rodney was only along to examine the doodads they'd found, and damn it, John should never have let him go. John should have sent Zelenka or one of the latest crop of scientists from Earth. Get their feet wet, initiate them by fire, whatever, just so Rodney didn't go offworld without h-- without the team, again.

"Incoming wormhole," Banks called out, as the chevrons locked and the iris engaged. "I'm reading Major Teldy's IDC."

"Lower the shield," John said, and Porter came through, breathing hard, and then Cohen, P90 in hand, looking back over her shoulder like she could see through the event horizon. There was a goddamned too-long pause while nothing happened and the wormhole rippled, and then three figures came in together, Mehra on one side and Teldy on the other and between them, arms around them both for support, a dirty, bruised, and improbably grinning Rodney.

"McKay," John said, and it came out rougher than he'd intended. "What the hell happened out there? I thought you said you were just checking out some artifacts."

"Oh, you know," Rodney said, waving the hand that was wrapped around Mehra's shoulder. He wasn't putting any weight at all on his left leg. "The usual. Activated something we shouldn't have, drew the attention of some nearby Wraith. Fortunately, I was able to use my considerable powers of ingenuity to rig an explosion using items at hand."

"Wait," John said, as the medics hurried over. "You blew up the outpost? Thought you were there to study it."

"It's not like I took out the solar system," Rodney said, and winced as Mehra and Teldy swung him up onto the gurney. "Hey, watch it! Injured man, here."

"Rodney," John said, and damn it, that came out even testier.

Rodney rolled his eyes as the medics did whatever medics did. "The explosion was entirely above ground. I didn't harm your precious outpost."

"You lit up the _sky,"_ Mehra said, with a snap of her gum. "It was awesome."

Rodney turned and _smiled_ at her with a fondness that was entirely out of proportion to the amount of time they'd spent together, and wasn't he supposed to be whining about his injuries? "It was, wasn't it?"

"Totally awesome," Mehra said, and as the medics started to wheel the gurney out of the gateroom, she kept pace with it, like she was escorting Rodney to the infirmary, and damn it, that was John's job.

He trailed along after, feeling distinctly like a fifth wheel, while Mehra said something else, too soft for John to hear, and Rodney beamed back at her. Like he was . . . like they were . . . _damn it._

One day. One lousy day. Hell, it hadn't been eighteen hours, and Rodney was already flirting with someone else?

Not that he'd ever flirted with John. They'd just been . . . doing stuff. Every once in awhile, ever since Rodney had ended up single again. And damn it, John had been right to come clean. He shouldn't have been using Rodney for sex in the first place. It was just that it had been so damn easy, and Rodney was always so fucking eager for it, and yeah, that should have been a warning sign from the start.

Except Rodney wasn't exactly acting heartbroken. He hadn't even looked at John funny, and wasn't he supposed to be having regrets now that they weren't together anymore?

Of course, they'd never actually been _together_ together. Not like Rodney had been with Keller, or even Katie Brown. It was just sex. _Had been_ just sex, because they weren't doing it any more. And Mehra was leaning in and grinning and chewing her gum and _fuck._

No one even seemed to notice when John stopped at the infirmary door and watched everyone else disappear inside.

Not even Rodney.

* * *

The worst part was, it was John's own damn fault. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, he could have stopped by Rodney's room tonight. Rodney's room, because it was always Rodney's room, which meant . . . huh. He'd never really thought about it before, but he was always the one who went to Rodney, not the other way around. He had no idea what that meant.

Fortunately, there was some convenient fallout from an incident on M3W-069 that needed his full attention -- and no, he was not thinking about the last two numbers of that gate address, because he and Rodney had never tried that. They hadn't even had sex all that many times. Six, by John's count. No, seven, if you counted the time in Rodney's lab, which they really shouldn't have done, even if it had been late and no one had walked in on them. It was a risk he never should have taken, not when it didn't mean anything.

Of course, he didn't have to worry about that now.

"Colonel?" Captain Morales said, and it sounded like he'd said it more than a few times.

"Yeah," John said, because okay, he was supposed to be in charge here. "Look, we don't have to involve Woolsey in this. Take your team back, clean up the mess, and make Hainsworth apologize real nice to the Varocians."

"It's the Grenassi. Sir."

"Right," John said, and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Apologize to the Grenassi, then."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Captain?"

"Sir?"

John shook his head, out of energy for a reprimand. "Don't let it happen again."

"No, sir."

John waited until his office doors had shut behind Morales to collapse back into his chair. He was pretty sure an apology was the right call. Either that, or a full commando raid. One of the two, anyway.

And he wasn't going to stop by the infirmary. Rodney had been coherent. Hell, he'd been _happy._ His injuries couldn't be serious. Unless he'd been so hyped up on adrenaline he hadn't even noticed the pain, except no. No, that wasn't Rodney McKay.

Rodney was fine. Rodney was probably out of the infirmary by now, anyway. For all John knew, he was having a celebratory beer with Sergeant Mehra. In her quarters.

Crap.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to stop by the infirmary. Maybe Rodney would still be there. And maybe Mehra had left to go count her grenades or something.

Hey, a guy could hope.

* * *

"Rodney?" Keller looked up from where she was counting pills or something. "Oh, I released him hours ago. It was just a minor sprain."

"Ah," John said, and he was, wow, more relieved that he'd thought he would be, and yet somehow still incredibly cranky. "That's good. That's great."

"I told him to rest and ice it," Keller said. "He's probably in his quarters if you're looking for him."

"Oh," John said. "No. I mean, thanks, but, you know. Just checking up on a member of my team."

"Of course," Keller said, and went back to doing whatever she'd been doing.

John didn't need another cue; he was out the door before she had a chance to look up again.

The corridor outside Rodney's room was empty, but John suddenly realized he should have brought a life signs detector. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt anything. Not that anything would be going on. Rodney never moved that fast; hell, look at how long it had taken him to ask Keller out. So maybe he'd responded to John's advances pretty quickly, but that didn't apply here, not unless Mehra had come on to him, and she wouldn't . . . okay, right, maybe she would.

Because Mehra wasn't Keller. Mehra wasn't the type to sit around waiting for someone else to make a move. She'd go for what she wanted, and if that meant Rodney--

Shit. Rodney's door picked that moment to slide open, and it was Dusty Mehra, herself. Looking as startled to see John as he was to see her, and fuck it all, now he couldn't even pretend he'd been imagining this.

"Oh, hey," she said. "Sir." As the door slid shut behind her.

"Sergeant," he said, as coolly as he could with his pulse doing double-time in his temples.

"You here to see him?" she asked, with a jerk of her thumb toward Rodney's door.

He couldn't admit it. Not to Mehra, not when she'd just . . . had her way with Rodney, whatever that involved, and damn it, she'd probably gone down on him, because with a sprained ankle he wouldn't be up for any acrobatics. John didn't know if it made it better or worse to be able to picture exactly what they'd been doing, but . . . okay, worse. Definitely worse.

"Nah," John said. "Just passing through."

"Right," Mehra said and narrowed her eyes a little. "He's okay, you know. It's just a twisted ankle."

"I heard," John said, and carefully didn't try to stare her down.

"O-kay," Mehra said, and bounced a little awkwardly on the balls of her feet. "I'll just be heading out. That way," she said, and pointed helpfully.

"You do that," John said, and made a point of taking off in the opposite direction. He got halfway down the corridor before he stopped and turned around.

Mehra was nowhere to be seen. He could go back if he wanted, knock on Rodney's door, pretend he didn't know what was going on. And Rodney would be all pink and flushed, like he used to be after they--

Okay, no. Fuck it all to hell. He couldn't do that, couldn't see Rodney like that, not when it was for someone else.

John spun and headed toward his own quarters, his footsteps echoing hollowly down the wide, empty corridor.

* * *

Rodney was in the mess at breakfast when John got there, despite the fact that John had gone running, alone, expressly in order to get there half an hour late. Which just went to prove that planning was useless, and he was going to have to bite the bullet and cope, one way or another.

Rodney was sitting with Teyla, his crutches propped against the empty chair next to him, gesturing wildly as he made some sort of emphatic point.

"John," Teyla said warmly, and then John had to sit down next to her, across from the crutches. "Rodney was just telling me about his adventures yesterday."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes," Rodney said. "Teyla had to leave to feed Torren when I was telling everyone last night."

"Ah," John said neutrally, because if that wasn't a barb about where he'd been, he didn't know what one was.

"Speaking of which," Rodney said, "where the hell were you? You couldn't even show for the debriefing?"

Oh. Right. This was Rodney. He didn't do subtle. "Sorry," John said, leaning back in his chair to look casual. "Got tied up coping with a couple of culturally insensitive marines."

"Oh," Rodney said. "I see. Well, it's too bad you missed it. You'd never believe the size of the explosion I managed to create with two grenades, a wraith stunner, and approximately half a ton of bat guano."

John choked on his coffee. _"Bat guano?"_

"Well, they weren't precisely bats," Rodney said. "More like furry, flying lizards. Whose droppings happened to be conveniently high in nitrate."

"Okay," John said slowly. "I don't think I want to know what you used the stunner for."

But Rodney, being Rodney, barreled onward. "Remote trigger, obviously. Trust me, we did not want to be anywhere near that thing when it blew."

"Wait," John said in spite of himself. "If you triggered it remotely, how the hell did you get hurt?"

"Oh," Rodney said. "Well. Ah, we had to run for it afterward, of course. And there were some vicious roots on the path back to the gate. Extremely vicious. Practically sentient."

"I see." John took another sip of coffee to hide his snicker, and damn it, Rodney had no right turning pink like that. Not when John couldn't . . . of course, he'd never actually kissed Rodney all that much. A couple of times, when it had gotten hot and heavy. So it was stupid, seriously, epically idiotic, to want to kiss him now, and suddenly John didn't feel very much like laughing.

"Fortunately," Rodney said, "Dusty was there to help me to the gate." He smiled fondly. "I would never have made it without her."

"Well, it was her _job,_ " John muttered, feeling even less like laughing, but Rodney was still talking.

"Oh, and speaking of Dusty, I'm supposed to be meeting up with her in, wow, three minutes." He pushed his chair back and grabbed his crutches. "Sorry, gotta run. Hey, can one of you bus my tray for me?"

"Sure, Rodney," John said, and slumped back in his chair, not watching as Rodney swung and thumped off. It wasn't fair, anyway. What the hell did Mehra have that--

"Are you all right?" Teyla asked, and how had he forgotten she was right there next to him?

"Me? Oh, sure. Fine," John said, and sat up straight. "Just, you know, not all that hungry."

Teyla tilted her head. "I am certain Rodney has entirely professional reasons for his meeting with Sergeant Mehra."

"What?" John made a show of raising his eyebrows at her. "Oh, that. Well it's not like I . . . I mean, yeah. Of course. Totally professional."

"I am glad you see it that way," Teyla said, lifting her cup of coffee, and if John wanted to beat his head against his tray until it shattered into a million tiny, jagged pieces, well, that was his problem. Not anyone else's.

Except, possibly, Dusty Mehra's.

* * *

John spent the day thinking up ways to send Teldy's team offworld for at least a month. It wouldn't be that hard, actually. The Grand High Mellorak on M4B-683 had offered to trade friendship, copperware, and a very nice wine for an ongoing bodyguard contract. Or, hey, M5G-128 always needed warm bodies in their textile mills. There was no reason Teldy's team couldn't help out, just as a gesture of goodwill.

Right.

The worst part about being The Man was that you had to be _responsible._

He managed to avoid both Rodney and Mehra for the rest of the day. Well, he was pretty sure he heard Mehra's voice coming out of the armory at one point, but a quick change of direction solved that problem, so he didn't know if Rodney was with her. Except Rodney wasn't in his lab most of the day, which meant . . . okay, it meant John had been checking, and it was entirely possible Rodney was avoiding him rather than the other way around, which pretty much sucked.

So by the time he made it back to his quarters after evening rounds he was a little cranky. Not cranky enough to throw things, but damn it, he wished he had something to take a few aggressions out on, like a punching bag, or possibly a Wraith attack. A small Wraith attack, not a full hive ship, just enough to shake some cobwebs out, and maybe even remind Rodney who _usually_ had his back.

Although given the way things were going, Mehra would probably take out more than her share of bad guys, and Rodney would . . . crap.

John needed something to distract himself. Something that would make him stop thinking about Rodney. Something that--

Oh, hey, that was his door chime. Possibly even the distraction he was asking for, and how convenient was that? John got up to answer it, but when the door slid open, it was Rodney.

Looking . . . actually, pretty damn good, even with the wrapped ankle and the crutches. His hair was kind of fluffy and his cheeks were pink, no doubt from the extra exertion it took to get around on three legs.

"So can I come in or what?" Rodney asked, which meant, right, John had been staring.

"Yeah, okay," John said, even though he really knew better.

Rodney, being Rodney, made himself right at home, taking the bed so he could prop his leg up, which left only the couch for John.

John crossed his arms over his chest and stayed right where he was.

"Well, aren't you going to join me?" Rodney asked, patting the bed next to him. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the consideration, but I'm not broken, you know. Well, not entirely broken, just broken enough that I could use a little distraction, and you do realize that the endorphins produced during orgasm are excellent pain relievers, right?"

John gaped at him. Jesus, had that line worked on Mehra? And if it had, what the hell was Rodney doing here? "Okay," he managed, and rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. "Hang on a sec. Did you hit your head when you tripped over that tree root?"

"What?" Rodney squinted up at him. "No, of course not. What's that supposed to mean?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" John asked, because, Christ. This was the first time, the very first time Rodney had ever come to him, and how the hell was it happening _now,_ after they'd called it off?

But Rodney just looked confused. "I thought I'd made myself perfectly obvious, but if you really need me to spell it out for you, I can do that. I was thinking we could trade blow jobs. Sometime this century, perhaps?" He lifted his eyebrows when John didn't move. "Oh, come on; you're the one who wants to use me for sex, and while I may be somewhat hampered by my recent injury, I'm sure I can still manage to satisfy you. It's not like it's ever been particularly difficult."

In spite of everything, John felt his cock swell in his pants. "Rodney," he tried. "Look, I . . . we . . . I can't do this."

Rodney frowned. "Why not? Wait, no. Don't tell me you're still having bizarre scruples about this." He made a face. "Okay, for the record, I am one hundred percent fine with being used. You're using me; I'm using you. See? It all works out. Now can we get on with this?"

 _He didn't know._ John swallowed and shifted on his feet, because apparently Rodney didn't realize they'd broken up, and that was . . . oh, God. He didn't have to admit to anything. He could just go along with it, pretend he'd meant it the way Rodney had taken it all along, and everything would go back to the way it had been.

Except apparently it had never been what John had thought it was. Rodney had never wanted anything more than . . . what they'd had.

"I can't," John said.

"Seriously?" Rodney sat up, shifting his legs on the bed with a wince. "That's it? You wake up one morning and realize we've been using each other and poof! You're not interested anymore?"

"No," John said, and it came out too strong. Too shaky. "Look, it's not like that. I don't . . . I'm not . . . " _Really not okay with being used._

And, Jesus, wasn't that a kick in the pants?

"You're not _what?"_ Rodney said.

John's jaw was clenched so tight it ached. "I'm not okay with this."

"Well, why the hell not? I mean, it's not like you weren't just fine with it, before." Rodney's chin went up, defiant and pugnacious, and John's vision went red around the edges.

"Rodney--" John said.

"No, seriously," Rodney said. "I'm horny. You're obviously horny, too. Why can't we do this?" And something in John's chest snapped like an overstressed cable.

"Because I'm fucking in love with you!" he yelled. And shit, _shit._ He hadn't just said that. He couldn't have, because he didn't, he hadn't, he'd never even _thought_ that, but Jesus, he'd said. it. He'd really, honest-to-God said it.

Rodney's voice was distant, like it was coming from the other end of a long, narrow tube. "Oh, for crying out loud. I don't believe this. I mean, seriously, that is the most ridiculous excuse I have ever heard for turning someone down. What's that supposed to do, scare me off?"

John sat down hard on the end of the bed and leaned forward, face in his hands, and tried not to think, because if he did, he might throw up.

"John?" Rodney said, and he sounded closer. A lot closer. Too goddamn close.

"Just go," John said into his palms.

"Wait, you mean you meant that?"

John's pulse was hammering in his temples. "Rodney--"

"Wow," Rodney said. "I can't believe you . . . really?"

John lifted his head slowly and turned to face Rodney. He could feel sweat on the back of his neck, the blood in his ears. "I mean it," he said. "Go find Mehra if you want somebody to use you. Just don't ask me."

"Dusty?" Rodney said. "Are you insane? Oh my God, you're serious. Okay, listen, she wanted to know about impromptu explosives. We spent the entire day discussing basic chemistry, with an emphasis, I might add, on safety protocol. You have absolutely nothing to be jealous about."

"I'm not jealous."

"Right," Rodney said. "And a bear's Catholic. Wow. I can't believe this. You actually have those kinds of feel--"

"McKay," John said, just to stop him.

"No," Rodney said, with a smile that was . . . weirdly hopeful, rather than triumphant. John's stomach flipped. "No, don't you get it? I was only saying that because you said it. I'm actually . . . we're actually . . . you're in _love_ with me."

"Fuck," John said. "Can we forget I said that? We could just, you know, whatever. Have sex."

"Ha," Rodney said, and his smile _was_ triumphant. "I knew you'd crack."

"Don't make me change my mind," John growled, but Rodney was unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down over his hips, and God. John had been thinking he'd never get to have this again.

He helped slide the pants over Rodney's wrapped ankle, boxers, too, and then, fuck it. He couldn't wait. He ignored the t-shirt Rodney was trying to pull over his head and dove in, pushing Rodney back on the bed and sucking his still-soft cock in and hell, yes. This was what he needed, the soft slide of Rodney's foreskin against his tongue, the quick pulse under the skin as it tightened and filled his mouth.

"God, John," Rodney said, and John sucked harder. He'd only blown Rodney three times, and it wasn't enough to know everything he liked, but he'd figured out a few tricks. Rodney wasn't big on teeth, but he didn't need to start real slow, either. He liked long, steady pulls, with an occasional surprise flick of the tongue.

John braced a hand next to Rodney's hip and settled in for the long haul. He wasn't going to think about what he'd said. Even if it meant his head was still light and his stomach was shaky. He had _this_ again, and it was . . . it had to be enough. It had to.

He tried a knuckle behind Rodney's balls, and Rodney gasped and bucked into his mouth, and oh, that was good. John whimpered around his mouthful and rubbed a little against the sheets. Not that he needed anything right now. He was fine. He could wait. He was _perfect._ But then Rodney twisted under him, pulling away, and John had to chase after his cock to get it back in his mouth.

"Come here," Rodney said, and John jerked his head up, ready to argue. But Rodney just rolled his eyes, said, "No, you idiot, like this," and reached to tug at John's thigh and _oh._ Oh, God.

They hadn't done this. They'd never done this, and it was probably a bad idea to attempt it on John's narrow bed, but he let Rodney open his fly and pull his cock out, and then curled back around to get his mouth back on Rodney's cock just as Rodney sucked his in.

And fuck, it was harder than it looked, trying to focus on technique when Rodney's cock was upside down in his mouth and Rodney's tongue was doing brilliant, shattering things to him. But he had to try. He had to. Because this was what Rodney wanted, what Rodney had asked for, and the least he could do was make it last more than half a minute.

John sucked gamely and even managed a few swirls of his tongue, but he was in trouble and he knew it. He was close already, too goddamned close, and whoa, that was a thumb behind his balls, pressing that perfect spot until he saw flares on the backs of his eyelids. And turnabout wasn't fair play at all, but Jesus H. Christ, he was . . .

Fuck. He was coming in Rodney's mouth, with Rodney's cock hard against the roof of his mouth, and he still needed . . . still wanted . . . God.

John wrapped a hand around Rodney's hip, squeezing hard, and Rodney got it. Rodney's hips snapped forward, and John closed his eyes and took it, because damn it, he needed this more than he'd needed to come. And it was good, God, so good, with Rodney pumping into his mouth and making wild, breathless noises while John held on and urged him harder, and harder still, until Rodney's gasps came fast and his thighs started to shake and oh, that was it, and John was swallowing down salt and bitter as fast as it came.

"Jesus," Rodney said, and John had to lift his head to see if he looked as wrecked as he sounded. Rodney's t-shirt was ringed with sweat and his hair was a rumpled mess and his cheeks so were blotchy and pink that John desperately wanted to kiss him.

But they didn't do that. Not afterward. Afterward he usually got up and left, but they were in his room this time, and he had no idea what to do.

He sat up slowly. His pants were around his hips and his dick was hanging out and he was sweatier than Rodney, but damn it, if Rodney was going to leave, he didn't want to be naked when the door opened. He yanked up his boxers and his pants and was working on his fly when Rodney's hand closed around his wrist.

"Hey," Rodney said softly. "Come here."

And yes, he was an idiot, and no doubt Rodney was just indulging him, but he didn't fight it when Rodney tugged again. He let Rodney pull him down and kiss him with heavy-lidded concentration, just sprawled next to him and returned it, long and slow.

"I can't believe you actually said it," Rodney said.

"Don't," John said, and the shaky feeling was back, only worse.

Rodney lifted his head and propped it on one arm. "What? Am I supposed to just forget about it? Because I'm sorry, but I can't exactly do that."

John closed his eyes. "Could we not talk about this?"

"I think it's a little too late for that," Rodney said. "I mean, come on. I wasn't the one who brought the subject up."

John peeked at him through his lashes. "You're never going to let this go, are you?"

"Actually? No. But you'll get used to it after the fiftieth iteration or so."

"Fuck," John said, and rolled over onto his back.

But no one had ever said Rodney McKay knew how to take a hint. "Okay, wait," he said. "Don't tell me. Is this why you wanted to break up with me? So you wouldn't have to say it?"

"No!" John said. "Jesus, Rodney. I wouldn't . . . I mean, I didn't know, okay? I just . . . I didn't know."

"Ah," Rodney said, like that actually had made sense to him. "Well, that's much better. I'd hate for you to have . . . well, I mean, I'm not saying I'm actually any better at this than you are, given the way things have turned out, although I suppose I should get points for refusing to accept it when you tried to break it off. That ought to count for something, right? It shows a certain amount of, ah, commitment. Not to mention mental fortitude, and no small amount of courage. Of course if you'd only --"

"Rodney," John growled, because there was just no way this could end well.

"Okay, fine," Rodney said. "I'm fucking in love with you, too. Are you happy?"

"Actually," John said, "I am." And if the shaky feeling was still there in his stomach, well, at least it was shaky for both of them, now.


End file.
